Windows of the Soul
by Strega Brava
Summary: COMPLETE A series of vignettes
1. Only Appropriate

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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR although I will gladly take Severus off her hands if she ever tires of him.

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Only Appropriate

It is to be expected but that does not mean I would not wish it differently.

Yes, even for one such as I, who should be accustomed to this solitary existence.

Even I do not wish to be alone.

Of course the mere thought of this would send ripples of astonished laughter through the ranks of the students sitting in front of me. I suppose the idea that an overgrown bat such as myself actually wanting companionship would be considered ludicrous at best. 

I have heard them talking and I have heard what they say about me…some of it is true, no doubt, but not all of it.

No, not all of it.

I smirk slightly as I calmly spread marmalade on my toast.

Who would ever guess? 

Then again, who would ever take the time to look at me as anything other than a vindictive, bitter former Death Eater?

Certainly not anyone sitting in front of me. They look on me, at best, as a necessary evil to endure so that they can complete their seven years here. I am certain they would consider it a blessing if I were to announce my retirement…or my impending death and dismemberment. Yes, Weasley would be quite thrilled with that prospect. Longbottom would want it proclaimed a national holiday.

Albus tells me with irritating consistency that I wear my loneliness around me like my flowing black robes, a necessary penance for all the darkness in my past. He is right; of course…he is always right about that sort of thing.

And he has always been right about me…annoyingly so.

I have become so adept at presenting this cold and bitter exterior to the world that I have often wondered if it has somehow replaced the person that I used to be. Is that young scholar still living somewhere inside of me or did he die when I took on this mark of eternal shame? Would I even recognize myself in those photos from my time here as a student? 

I don't believe anyone else would.

Every once in a while, when I am feeling particularly melancholy (such a frightfully tedious word, that) I will pull out the old photos that are carefully stored in black leather albums and look them over, a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey in one hand. What would the others think if they saw the person I was? 

What would the students think? Would they honestly believe that I was once as they are now? Would they believe that the young man smiling in this photo could possibly be the quasi-lifeless husk of a much older man that teaches them Potions? Would they wonder what had caused this terrible metamorphosis? Would they empathize? Would they understand?

Not terribly likely.

They would not care that I hate spending my days and nights alone, waiting for the call from one I used to call my master and then returning to the one I call my friend. The only friend I have…sheltered me when I was left with nothing…not even my soul. Provided me with employment, a home and endless support. I can never repay such an enormous debt.

The others are hardly malicious and most do make an effort to be cordial but I find it tiresome. I do not need them. I do not need anyone.

But, I admit to myself, that is hardly a life…this solitary existence that is so painful to me. Only my duty and my need to earn my reconciliation for a thousand sins keep me from slitting my own throat.

If only…I were not cursed to be so damnably alone.

If only I could feel that my death would be mourned by someone other than Albus…and he would mourn. Of that, I am certain. But it would appear that my fate is to die unknown, unloved and unwanted. Perhaps there will be a collective sigh of relief in the Ministry. But there will be no tears…no broken hearts.

And I suppose that this is only appropriate.

However, I will not deny that I wish it were different. I wish there were someone brave enough to look past this cold exterior to discover the boy within. The boy who laughed. 

Because he is still there, buried deep inside me.

I have not killed him yet.

He is still there.

Waiting.

A/N: This is the first of a short series of vignettes.


	2. Masks

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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR. The second vignette...a few years after the first. 

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The Eyes Have It 

Even now, that I am no longer a student, he still makes me feel like a frightened 11-year old. But I am not frightened of him...I have faced evil and it is not Severus Snape no matter what the others say behind his back. 

Frustrating, really, that he has not yet earned any degree of respect. He has proven his loyalties a thousand times over and yet he is still regarded with suspicion and mistrust. Albus Dumbledore himself has vouched for him but when has the Ministry ever listened to him? 

Pathetic, really. 

I have waited for almost half an hour and I can only assume that it will be at least another half an hour before he will grace me with his presence. 

Well, it is hardly his fault. One never knows how long a Death Eaters meeting will last. 

I take a sip of the now-cold cocoa that Albus has so kindly given me. My memories of this former professor are confusing at best. Bitter. Cold. Harsh. Vindictive. Stubborn. Loyal. Committed. Self-Sacrificing…Brilliant.

Yes, brilliant. 

What a mind...if only he had never turned to the ways of darkness. What an Auror he could have been! 

Of course, if the Ministry officials actually heard me saying that they would assign me to an excellent suite of rooms in St. Mungo's. But it is they themselves who should so lock themselves away. They are the lunatics...the willfully blind, misguided bureaucrats who have yet to acknowledge the crisis that has been brewing for so long. 

Fools...the lot of them. 

Severus is no fool. 

It took me some time to reconcile myself to calling him by his name and not by his title. It took me longer to acknowledge that there was a man, a living human being, hiding beneath the persona of the cold and distant Potions Master. 

He is willing to do the Ministry's dirty work and does it without so much as a thank you...with no expectation of a reward. The Ministry thinks they have him at their beck and call but I know better. He is making up for his past. He is trying to find a way to find peace with himself. He is at no one's beck and call...he is his own taskmaster. 

Yawning slightly, I decide that I will get up off this awfully uncomfortable chair and look through his many books. I envy him this...his own personal library. His own personal retreat from the trials and tribulations of the outside world. A collection that no doubt started when he was a student within these walls. Mine is only a fraction of this. 

I thumb through the titles, trying to find something to relieve me of the fatigue that threatens to make me curl up and sleep on top of his desk. I can't help but grin at that thought...he would probably take points off Gryffindor for such an outrage. 

But this is not a textbook ...it...it is a photo album. 

I take this unexpected prize and return to my seat, curling up and opening it carefully. The outside is not dusty in the least and this surprises me...indicates that he has been looking at the photos recently. 

These photos…they are from his school days. There. A younger Remus Lupin. And there. A younger Sirius Black…still rather savage. And there…dear Merlin how Harry looks so much like his father.

One photo arrests me and causes my heart to turn in sadness. 

A picture of him...a youth of no more than 19. My Potions Master when he was but an apprentice.

It is easy to see the younger version of the man in whose office I sit. 

Tall. Thin. Pale. Straight black hair settling on his shoulders. Black robes...simple, stark elegance. But it is the face that astonishes me...gives me pause. 

He is smiling. A genuine smile that lights up his face with happiness. 

His eyes, still so dark, are brimming with life. 

His face, still so pale, is not so drawn in worry. 

Those eyes...those beautiful eyes...like limpid pools of midnight. Warm. Dangerous.

What happened to this boy? 

How did he become this tortured man? 

And is the boy still living inside him? 

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, I quickly return the album to its proper place and sit down. My heart is racing. I feel as if I have intruded on something private...something sacred that I should not have witnessed. 

The door opens and he walks in. My heart, newly stirred with my recent revelation, goes out to him. He looks so tired...a look of defeat. I quickly get up and walk over to him. He is still wearing the accursed robe of the Death Eaters and holds the steely mask in his left hand. 

"Why are you here?" He asks me. For a moment, I wonder if I have angered him...but I have waited for him before. He looks as if he is surprised to see me...he looks that way each time he returns to find me waiting. 

I wonder if he realizes why I wait.

I wonder if I dare realize it myself.

"Can I get you something to drink, Severus?" I ask lightly, taking the mask from his hand and endeavouring not to flinch at its icy feel. It feels like death and I can feel the goosebumps travel up my arm. It takes all my will to not shiver.

"Something stronger than cocoa would be preferable," he mutters as he watches me place the mask on his desk. "You should not be touching that, Hermione." 

"It is only a mask," I reply. "_Not unlike the one you are showing me right now_," I think to myself. I turn to face him with a small decanter in one hand and an empty glass in the other. He is looking at me as if I have suddenly sprouted a second head. For a moment, there is an indescribable something in his eyes...something I could define but dare not. 

"Some masks are necessary," he whispers tiredly as he waits for me to pour. I do so, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the liquor that suddenly fills the room. 

"Are they?" I ask, not certain whether it is the scent of the liquor that is making me dizzy or the penetrating stare of his obsidian eyes. 

"This...mask," he points to the metallic abomination on his desk, "is necessary. It keeps me alive...useful." 

I approach him and hold out the glass. He takes it and downs it in one gulp, closing his eyes involuntarily. I gently touch his cheek and he starts violently, eyes flying open and seeking mine. 

"And this mask?" I trace a finger along his jawline. "Is this mask also necessary, Severus?"


	3. Living

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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR. The third vignette…two years after the second.

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Living

He is gone.

After all these years…all this torment.

He is finally gone.

I can scarcely believe that which my own eyes have witnessed. 

It is over…and I am still alive. That, in itself, is astonishing when I look around and see just what price we have paid. There are bodies everywhere. Some are stirring and others…are not. I cannot look too closely. I am frightened to know who we have lost. 

Who I have lost.

I walk over to the smouldering remains of he who I used to call my master. A fitting end…there is barely enough for even the rats to feast upon. Potter is still standing there, looking down on his defeated nemesis with determination in his face. So much like his father and yet so different. Even I have come to realize that this young man is his own person…not just a younger version of his father.

"He has mocked my parents' sacrifice for the last time," he whispers to me.

The strength in his voice impresses me. He has never had much of a normal life. Perhaps this is the time…a time of beginning for him. But can The Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Lived Twice…will he be allowed to slip into relative obscurity? I highly doubt it.

"You did well, Harry," I reply, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your parents would have been very proud."

He turns to me in surprise. I know he would not have expected that from me…but I am not so heartless as all that. And I know that his parents would be proud. I would be too…if I had a son who had accomplished such great things without seeking the greatness thrust upon him.

"Thank you, sir," he smiles.

"We must tend to the others…they need our help," and I know he understands that there are those who are beyond our help but who need us all the same.

"Yes, sir," his smile falters as he turns and witnesses the carnage. But no tears come to his eyes…only that glint of determination I saw earlier. That famed Gryffindor strength and bravery. This is perhaps the first time I have come to truly appreciate it.

I begin to make my way quickly around, checking for signs of life…helping where I can. I may not have the same capacity to heal as Poppy, but I can stopper death even without a healing potion close at hand.

I close the vacant eyes of several former colleagues and students. I do not envy the person who must tell Arthur and Molly that they lost two children in this final battle. I sigh as I look upon Lupin, his face more serene than I have ever seen it. I close his eyes as well. Black will not take his death very well.

Albus and Minerva are conversing in quiet tones and I walk over to them, dread in my heart.

"What is it?" I ask.

"We cannot find Hermione…we have searched everywhere and have turned up nothing,"

Minerva's eyes are red and swollen. Since the death of the young woman's parents last year, the Deputy Headmistress had taken her in and loved her as a daughter.

If I were less tired, less drained…perhaps then I could control my response. I could rein in the fear that I know is clearly displayed on my face.

"I will search for her outside…there is nothing more I can do here," I manage to say in a shaky voice.

Minerva does not notice anything out of the ordinary but Albus nods solemnly…a benediction of sorts. 

I do not wait for any further response but hurry out the doors. She had been shielding Potter…preventing The Dark Lord from seeing exactly what her friend was doing until it was too late. Somehow, she had been hit by a stray curse and had simply vanished….disapparated, if that were possible here.

Gone.

I check the hallways and look for her. Searching frantically…finding more dead bodies but not her.

Where did she go?

I move into the dungeons and search the dank corridors there.

There.

Sprawled on the floor like a discarded toy. Her beautiful honey brown hair is covering her face. I can't tell if she is breathing.

Somehow, I manage to walk over to her and kneel by her side. I touch her hand…it is still clutching her wand. Her skin feels like ice and the cold permeates my very heart.

No.

It cannot be this way.

It should have been me…she has hardly had a life.

I gather her up in my arms and hold her close, too despondent for even tears to grant me release from this awful pain.

Her body is so cold and still.

And yet, if I close my eyes, I can imagine that she is still with me. Imagine pressing my lips to hers as I have longed to do for so long.

A first kiss…a last kiss…even the gods cannot deny me that.

Lips that are cold…

….still…

…or are they?

Startled at a slight movement, I break away in confusion and open my eyes to see her eyes struggling to open. 

"Is it over?" she asks in a soft whisper as she finally succeeds in opening her eyes and focusing on me. Her gaze is warm, like the warmth that is now spreading through her body…through me.

I don't know quite what to say. I quickly check her and am relieved to see that she is not critically hurt but has several deep cuts that indicate a substantial loss of blood. Her ankle is broken as is the wrist that still clutches her wand as if she expects another Death Eater to come swooping in with a fell curse. She is not complaining of pain or discomfort and seems oddly comfortable lying in my arms on the cold dungeon floor.

"Yes, Hermione. It is over," I tear off a piece of my cloak and use it to bandage her ankle and her wrist. 

She smiles slightly and reaches up to touch my face…her gaze is piercing…I feel as if she is scrying into my very soul.

"No more masks, Severus. The time of darkness is finally behind us and there is no need for us to be anything other than who we are," she says softly, the words only slightly slurred.

"And who are we?" I ask as I pick her up off the ground. Levitation spells be hanged…I never want to lose the feeling of her heart beating against mine.

"A man and a woman who love one another. Is that so difficult to understand?" She smiles as she caresses my cheek softly. I capture those fingers in mine and kiss them lightly. I want this…want her so much…and yet…

"Hermione…I…cannot promise that it will be easy," I manage to say as I check the preliminary healing spells to ensure the wounds have not reopened. I sigh with relief. She will be all right.

She smiles weakly. "Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. All I ask is that we make a new beginning…together."

"Are you certain?" I have to know.

"Of course, Severus," she sighs as she closes her eyes to rest, her head resting comfortably on my chest. "It is time for both of us to start living."

And I smile because I know she is right.

Again.

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A/N: One last vignette to come.


	4. Forever

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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR, although I will lay claim to any part of Severus that she is willing to share. 

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Forever

I still pray for them when I go to sleep.

That part of me that still believes in those things learned in childhood…it does not let me rest until I have commended their souls to the paradise they so richly deserve.

How I miss them…even now that so many years have passed.

But they are not the only ones I pray for in this world of newfound peace and hope. Selfish as it may appear, I have prayed for myself…prayed that this happiness would never end. My happiness. Our happiness.

Forever is not enough…not when our beginning came so late.

  
And almost did not come at all.

He was right, as he usually is about these matters. It was a fiendishly difficult time at first. I suppose I held onto the naïve belief that my happiness would matter the most to them…that they could look past all our differences and simply be content that my life felt complete.

Perhaps they felt that their friendship would be all that I would ever need.

But it wasn't. And isn't.

The funny thing was that I was ready to disown the lot of them. Oh yes, I was furious…fit to be tied practically. But he told me not to be rash.

"Friendship is a valuable thing and one such as yours is rare…do not throw it away simply because they have difficulty in accepting your choice of a life partner," he would often say as he held me close and caressed my hair lovingly. "Give them time."

As if it were my choice at all. He is mine and I am his…it is as simple and as complex as that.

Sighing, I turn over to watch him sleeping. He doesn't realize how often I do this. Perhaps it is a fear that Voldemort will somehow snatch him away from me even now. Especially now that I feel somewhat safe. Is it any wonder that I cannot sleep if part of me is not touching him? The contact reassures me that he is still with me.

Because I still have nightmares…even now.

And I still sleep with my wand under the pillow. Because one never knows and I am not about to lose him…not now…not ever.

Perhaps that is what brought them around to their senses. Perhaps when they saw my resolution in deciding to stay with this dark, tainted, bitter, wonderful, empathetic, passionate, caring man…perhaps then they decided that there better walls against which to knock their heads.

A slight smile forces its way onto my face. Ah, he would have something to say about that…something decidedly uncomplimentary.

Well, I never expected fairy tale romance and I have yet to experience it but that does not make it any less precious to me. Of course we have arguments over mundane things and of course there are things about him I would dearly love to change (and perhaps one or two he would love to change about me but that is another matter entirely) but the foundation of our love is strong…solid…and real. 

It is not fluff and I would not change that.

But, on nights like this, when he sleeps peacefully despite the clinging octopus that I am, I thank the stars for such simple happiness. 

I move a lock of hair so that it does not cover his cheek and I look at him in an appraising manner.

Pale.

Thin.

That nose.

Those obsidian eyes that dream beneath closed lids.

A mouth that is still getting used to the simple act of smiling.

He is not beautiful to look at but he is beautiful to me.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, I place my hand on his bare chest, delighting in the feel of his steady heartbeat. I still remember how he had laughed when I told him my belief that he slept in his billowing black robes.

He has a beautiful laugh…warm and rich.

I love when he laughs.

It reminds me that we are blessed to have each other.

Still smiling, I lean over to kiss his lips…dry and warm; just the slightest bit rough.

Gently, I lay my head on his chest, draping an arm around his waist…one leg between his…trying to touch as much of him as possible. Holding him close and inhaling the scent that is uniquely his own, I ask for nothing else.

"You are forever mine," I whisper to him as I close my eyes.

As the tug of sleep strengthens, I dream that his arms tighten around me and that his lips touch my forehead.

"Forever," I hear him say in the faintest of whispers, "is not long enough."


End file.
